


Knife and Cloth

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adaptation, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Femslash, Forbidden Love, Power Dynamics, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Edelthea 'Fingersmith' AU.When it becomes known that Edelgard, the young heiress to the powerful house Hresvelg is in the need of a new handmaiden, former opera star Margaret Arnault encourages her protegé to take the job, and instructs her on just how to use it to her advantage, even if it comes at the expense of her employer.It seemed all too easy to Dorothea. Play the part of the simple minded naive maid, get the powerful Lady to divulge information and secrets to her, use them to her advantage and use it all to have the life she always hoped for.Only, it turns out, it's not so easy to deceive a woman like Edelgard once you spend too much time with her.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Knife and Cloth

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Fódlan is a normal, vaguely-European continent, in vaguely medieval-to-modern setting. All of the existing political and social tensions still exist, and the Church exists, but it is not controlled by immortal dragon-people. There is no magic and no time-convenient tech. 
> 
> It will start a bit slow but will eventually have the rating change to E, and will contain explicit violence.
> 
> And yes, it is much more an Edelthea story than anything else. Shoutout to the authors who inspired me to write this who most likely know who they are.

If somebody were to ask Dorothea what her vocation was, she would have answered that she is a singer, despite having had a wide array of jobs in her life. A canary at small taverns, a seamstress, a caretaker of orphan children, a spy for wealthy merchants, and even, once, an auxiliary midwife. She had never, however, been a handmaiden for a noble lady until now.

A noble lady. Quite the unassuming way to describe her new employer - the eldest daughter of Lord Ionius IX, and heir to House Hresvelg, by far the wealthiest and most powerful noble house in all of southern Fódlan.

It was Margaret, of course, who had put her up to this.

Margaret Arnault was a retired opera singer, now in her sixties, who currently dedicated her life to raising young girls, and instructing them in her craft. She taught them not only music, but also everything a young woman ought to know - sewing, cooking, cleaning, and the like. There were some lessons, however, that she reserved only for her best and brightest. To them, she passed on the most valuable teachings of all: How to lie. How to manipulate, and seduce, and swindle, and other tactics necessary to get one’s way when other… conventional, means were not possible. Margaret was a good woman, and she loathed to do such things, but she wanted her girls to have the best life possible given the hands that were dealt to them, and achieving that through singing alone was seldom achievable. Fódlan was not kind to the commonfolk - particularly not ones like herself and the girls she cared for. Most of them were orphans, and all ended up with her for the same reason - they had nowhere else to go. Perhaps teaching girls to be cheats was an appropriate blow to deal back to the world they lived in.

If Margaret’s tutelage were a class, then Dorothea would be at the top of it. Not only was she beautiful and gifted with a great voice, she was also uncommonly bright, tenacious, and fiercely dedicated to the pursuit of her goals. She had arrived at Margaret’s doorstep (a cramped little living space underneath the Mittelfrank Opera House) when she was only six years old, her tiny hand holding onto that of Edward, a cleaning boy that frequently visited her. Edward was fifteen at the time, but so tall that he was often mistaken for an adult man. “There’s been rumors about this one, miss,” he’d said. “The men have been hearing her singing lullabies around the streets. She’s like a little baby songbird, they say.” And so it was. Now, at eighteen, she was Margaret’s protegé - the star of the House, the dazzling and elusive songstress that was the talk of every opera enthusiast in the city; and, of course, a girl with an earned reputation of always finding a way to get what she wants.

Everything Dorothea did, though, was in service of one single goal: Having a dignified life. She wanted for luxury too, of course, but she supposed she could live without it if need be. Though she was very young when she wandered the streets alone, barely surviving by finding scraps of food when she could and stealing when she couldn’t, the impact her early childhood had on her was immense. One of her earliest memories was of a silent vow she made to do whatever it takes to never have to live that way again. She would die, she now told herself, before she went back to the streets, handing the reins her life to the whims of fate and luck. No, she would find herself a husband who could guarantee a comfortable home, care and protection for the rest of her life.

Now, with her acclaimed status as an opera singer, Dorothea was closer to that goal than ever. Almost every day she had men showering her in gifts, talking her ear off about the lavish lifestyle they could provide her should she accept their offer of marriage. Pigs, she thought, every last one of them. Many of her suitors were very wealthy, some of them even noble, but she knew exactly how they gained and maintained their fortunes. Though she deeply desired an advantageous marriage, she refused to enter into one that would compromise her staunch moral compass. If she was to be the lady of a house, then it would not be one whose walls were built on the strained backs of people like her. And she certainly would not be wife to a man who spent all of his spare time and much of his money philandering with younger, prettier girls.

Still, her prospects seemed quite good. With her fame and accolades only increasing, she was bound to find someone decent sometime soon, she figured. And so she was rightfully apprehensive when Margaret approached her one night, pitching to her a new job.

“Margaret, surely you wouldn’t want me to quit now. I’m more famous than I’ve ever been, and there are men approaching me with offers of marriage almost daily. And to be a maid? What sense is there to that?”

“A handmaiden, dear, not a maid.”

“Does it matter?”

“Dorothea, you don’t understand. You know that House Hresvelg is basically royalty here. You’d have intimate access to the woman who’s soon going to become one of the most powerful in all of Fódlan, and get to roam the halls of her estate! Think about the possibilities. All of the wealthy and noble visitors. All of the valuable information you’ll learn. I’m telling you, sweetheart, spend just one season there and you will walk out set for life, no doubt with someone far better than the unsavory characters that frequent this opera house.”

Dorothea pondered. Margaret, as always, had a point. Under usual circumstances, going from star of an opera company to a handmaiden would seem like an absurd tradeoff by any measure, but what Margaret suggested was far from it. A handmaiden to the heir of House Hresvelg… It certainly would come with an array of fast-track tickets to a good life.

Still,

“But I don’t understand how I would get there, or why a noble house with endless options would pick me as a handmaiden to their heiress when I’ve never worked as one before, when I have no one to recommend--”

“You have me, of course.”

Dorothea paused.

“As you know, the members of that house are avid opera patrons. It was their ancestors who funded the construction of the building we’re in right now. The former Lady who passed away some years ago considered me a friend, and I’ve met the young heiress myself quite a few times. They trust me, and that lot don’t trust people easily - the rumors of them being paranoid of spies and such are true, as you know.”

“Right.”

“That’s why I’m convinced that if I put in the good word for you, they’ll accept in a heartbeat.” Margaret paused, then. She sighed, put both of her hands on Dorothea’s shoulders, and looked her in the eye.

“Thea, I know that it’s a terrible waste of your talents to have you play dress-up with a noble lady. It would pain me to see you go. But you know as well as I do that stardom is fleeting, and rarely is a way to secure a good marriage. As brightly as you shine here today… there’s no guarantee that you won’t end like me - old and alone and depending on people’s goodwill to get by.”

“Margaret--”

Margaret hushed her with a finger to her lips.

“This truly is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I can think of no one who deserves to pursue it more. The Hresvelgs are extremely sharp folk, and they know a ruse when they see one - or at least, they think they do. You’re the only one here who can hold a candle to them. Get out there, play the part of the diligent and dedicated maid just for a short while, do what it takes. It will pay off for you, I have no doubt about it.”

Dorothea smiled. Margaret was right, as always. She walked into her arms for one of the warm, purposeful hugs that Margaret liked to give.

“You’ll have to teach me how to be a handmaiden, though. I’ve never dressed a noble lady before.”

Margaret grinned. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Leave everything to me.”

* * *

Not a full week after that, a carriage sent from House Hresvelg came to the Opera House to fetch Dorothea. It wasn’t one of the lavish ones used by its members, of course, but rather an unassuming looking thing, hardly more than a wooden box drawn by two medium-sized black horses. The coachman, wearing plain-looking attire, stopped in front of one of the opera house’s many back entrances, and studied her.

Dorothea wore a simple maroon dress, long sleeved and reaching down to her ankles; a casual black hat on her head, and one single bag that she carried in her right hand.

“Miss Arnault?” said the coachman.

“That’s me.”

He stepped down, opened the carriage door, and gestured to her. “Come in. My employers are expecting you.”

Dorothea thanked him with only a single nod before stepping inside. She could tell that he was being deliberately vague and secretive with her, and so she would do the same to him. After all, Enbarr had eyes and ears everywhere, and the Hresvelgs were the last people who wanted gossip associated with their name.

The ride to the estate was shorter than Dorothea had imagined it would be. With the way people spoke about it - about its vast flower fields and the grand lavish mansion in the middle of them, she figured it would be at least a few hours’ ride away from the chaotic Enbarr; and yet it could not have been more than two hours before the clap-clap-clap of the horses’ hooves stopped.

When the door opened, she was nearly blinded by the reflection of the light against the many white walls of the manor. It was, of course, gargantuan, likely the biggest she’d ever seen. She scoffed. How unsurprising, that the Hresvelgs should live in a place that could house an entire army with its sheer size. It was fittingly decorated with lavish, extravagant additions, too, including such things as bizarre-looking statues of mythical monsters crafted from limestone.

She was greeted at the edge of the rather long stone path to the door by a few maids and a tall man with dark clothes, dark hair, and a demeanor that reminded her of characters she’d seen in operas before - vampires or other humanlike monsters, perhaps.

“Welcome, Miss Arnault. My lady has been expecting you.”

Ah, that voice. She immediately knew who he was upon hearing it. Hubert von Vestra, the heir to house Vestra and vassal to the lady Edelgard since the two of them were children. How odd, she thought, to see the man up close and in person. He somehow seemed like an exaggerated caricature of the reputation he had.

Margaret was not Dorothea’s mother of course, but as many of the girls raised under her wing did, Dorothea took her last name as her own. She did not exist in any legitimate registry, so it truly didn’t matter what she chose to call herself. Margaret had been, for all intents and purposes, the only motherlike figure she had ever had, and so why not take her name.

Dorothea gave a small courtesy. “I’m happy to be here.”

Hubert seemed to chuckle. “I’m sure. Follow me, please.”

Dorothea did, picking up her bag and carrying it inside with her, fighting not to roll her eyes at the fact that such a grand place with so many servants couldn’t so much as spare a pair of hands to help her carry her belongings; not that she had many, of course.

The house was almost exactly as she had expected it would be, though much… darker. Where were all the candles, she wondered, where were all of the beautiful crystal chandeliers. It was the middle of the afternoon on a fairly cloudless day, and yet most of the place was so dark she could seldom see beyond the light provided by the candle Hubert carried in front of him.

“There are rules you will be required to follow if you are to remain working here,” Hubert said, stern, not bothering to turn around to look at her. She almost laughed.

“Of course. I’m aware.”

“There will be no asking questions,” Hubert immediately followed up. “No attempting to become close with the Lady on a personal level. No fraternizing with the guests or the staff. Theft of property of the Lady or of the house will be punished severely.”

Nothing new there. “Yes sir,” she responded. She was clever enough to work around those rules.

“And, most importantly,” Hubert stopped and turned to look at her now. “Whatever sensitive information or detail you happen to hear or see while you are here, will be immediately forgotten. If you are discovered divulging such things, you will be put to death. Am I understood?”

Now that took Dorothea by surprise. She was well aware of the nobility’s need for secrecy and the extent they could go to to ensure it, but a death sentence? For sharing information? It made her wonder just how much these people had to hide.

“I will not hear nor repeat a single word,” Dorothea said, playing her part.

“No, you will not.”

They walked in silence after that, until they reached a short, shabby-looking brown wooden door that appeared utterly out of place in the mansion. “This is your room.” He produced a small brass key from his pocket, and placed it in her palm. “Next to it is the Lady’s quarters. The walls that separate you are thin, and so you must be quiet in the night and in the morning as you move while she is sleeping. Can you do so.”

Dorothea blinked. _What?_ “Of course. My feet are light as a child’s.”

“She is currently taking tea with her uncle, but will be back by the hour or so. She will call for you then, and you will hear it. Be prepared to help her undress, bathe, and redress later for dinner. Do not delay, as she despises delays.”

 _What?!_  
  
“Not a problem.”

“I will leave you, then. Let us both hope that the old woman will not disappoint us.”

He meant Margaret, surely, as if Margaret would be accountable for any and all action Dorothea took while in those walls. She did another courtesy. “I’ll do my very best.”

Hubert nodded, turned on his heel, and left as if he had other business that needed his immediate attention. Dorothea used her newly received key to open the door, then immediately let her body plop onto the tiny bed glued to the tiny wall of the tiny room. She was not the tallest of women by any stretch of the imagination, but the room’s proportions still felt far more fitting for a child than for her. Her head nearly brushed against the ceiling if she stood, and her toes dangled in the air from the bed if she laid the full length of her body on it. The mattress and pillow were decently soft, but she could not help but be angry at these conditions. Wasn’t she to be serving the heiress to the richest and most powerful noble house in the continent? Shouldn’t she be offered quarters a bit better than an upscaled dollhouse?

She sat up on the mattress, then, and looked at the wall in front of her. A plain wooden wall with a small door - which, according to Hubert, connected to the Lady’s quarters. She wasn’t sure quite what he meant when he mentioned that “when she was called for, she would hear it”, but still her curiosity was piqued.

Slowly and without making a sound, like she was a small animal, Dorothea pressed her face to the keyhole of the door, closed one eye, and tried her hardest to make sense of the erratic colors and shapes manifesting in front of her. She could not detect anything more than a large room - much, much larger than the one she was currently in - with what was most likely an elegant bed in the middle. With a sigh, she peeled herself from the wall and sat on the mattress again.

She pondered if this was as good an idea as Margaret had pitched to her. She had only been in the place for minutes and not seen a soul other than Hubert and a few nameless maids, and she already felt like she wanted to set the whole damn thing on fire. And soon she’d have to be playing maid to the young Lady. How old was the lady Edelgard anyway? Fifteen? Seventeen? Twenty? There was no way for Dorothea to know, and that alone resulted in anxiety that she was absolutely not in the mood or mental space to deal with.

Frustrated, she slapped her bag a few times, put it in the spot where the pillow had once been, and laid her head on it. For all of the dreary qualities to the Hresvelg estate, at least it was certainly quiet. If she shut her eyes and stilled her breathing, all she could hear was herself and the distant sounds of leaves rustling and birds singing outside. Like the Opera House and the capital were far, far away. Like her previous life was far away.  
  


* * *

“Clarisse.”

…

“Clarisse….!”

…

_“CLARISSE!!”_

Dorothea was suddenly roused from her sleep, her body jerking awake. There was a voice calling out. She did not recognize the name but it was clearly coming from the room beside her. Thin walls, indeed.

 _“Fuck,”_ she cursed to herself, hastily straightening out her dress and putting on her inside slippers.

She expected it to be locked, at first, but the door separating her room from the Lady’s opened so easily. Without thinking she ran inside, ready to fight off… whatever it was. Surely it didn’t matter what the horrible scenario was because she’d probably seen worse in her lifetime.

But what she encountered was no such thing. Rather, she saw a woman - or perhaps a girl might be a more fitting description for the person there. She sat on the enormous bed, wearing nothing but a white camisole, and holding a hairbrush in one of her hands. Her grip on the brush's handle was so strong that her knuckles were white, and it seemed to Dorothea like the thing could break into pieces any second.

“My lady, I--”

“You are my new maid. You are Dorothea, aren’t you?”

Dorothea, despite being quite stunned, managed to remain composed. “Yes, I am. I heard you shouting. How can I help you, my lady?”

The Lady slowly turned her head to face her, finally, and when she did, Dorothea was taken aback in a way that she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

She had pictured Edelgard von Hreslveg, the heiress to this house, to be a woman whose looks and whose voice reflected exactly who she was. What her family was. But what she saw then was not that at all. She saw messy platinum hair, a vulnerable expression, and wide lilac eyes that looked legitimately terrified.

She was just a girl.

Dorothea bit her lip. Prior to coming here, she had expected to hate her employer, and that doing so would make it utterly easy to use her for personal gain. But seeing Edelgard like that - seeing that girl like that - she felt soft.

Edelgard cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Dorothea.” Her voice was suddenly far more serious and composed than before. Gone was the vulnerability, the fear, the audible crying. “You merely caught me in a bad moment. Give me a few minutes, please, and then come back. You must help me bathe and dress for dinner. We can become acquainted then.”

“Of course, my lady,” Dorothea said, followed by a courtesy. It came so naturally, she didn’t even have to think or calculate. She turned, and walked back to her room. 

She sat on her bed, staring blankly at the walls in front of her, trying to process what had just happened. The Lady had been shouting, and probably also crying. The initial look in her eyes was filled with such horror. What in the world had happened before Dorothea walked in? 

And she looked so young, so... small. Her eyes had something about them that, for some reason, reflected a stolen innocence - or so Dorothea thought. Perhaps she was imagining things. 

She had, it seemed, her work cut out for her. 

_to be continued_


End file.
